


Jäger Auto Shop

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Eremin - Freeform, JeanMarco if you squint, M/M, Multi, That One Auto Shop Fic, crossdressing Armin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-07 11:08:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1896783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren Jäger's inherited one thing from his deadbeat father. A crummy little auto shop, right across the street from his arch rival, Jean Kirschtein. Can he, his adopted sister, and his boyfriend run Jean out of business and force him to come out of the closet? </p><p>Find out in this ridiculous AU!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sun was glaringly bright, and the small electric fan in the corner of Jäger Auto Repairs was far from helping. A small radio sat on the front desk, faintly playing something that sounded like Hall & Oates and crackling occasionally. The shop was currently empty, save for Eren Jäger, owner of the shoddy garage he'd inherited from his father, who was now long gone. Probably in Vegas or something, Eren thought as he took a swig from a water bottle sitting on the hood of a '73 Camaro. Not that he was complaining. Honestly, the business had been running way more smoothly without his dad breathing down his neck all the time. Not to mention Jäger senior had been a little too weird ever since Eren's mother had died. It was all for the best, Eren concluded as he stepped over to the front desk and turned up the radio. 

It proceeded to crackle more intensely for a few seconds before it cleared up. Eren made a mental note that when he didn't have any more bills to pay he'd get a new one. Hell, it was 1988. Shouldn't be too hard to find a functioning radio. He turned around to the sound of a faint knocking on the side of the garage. 

"Hey Armin!" He grinned at the sight of a blond boy leaning against the open door. Armin had been rather spontaneously employed as something of a receptionist for the auto shop. His job wasn't really necessary, but he'd been complaining of boredom so Eren had suggested reception work. Armin had agreed on the condition that he didn't have to do any real work, and would in turn not accept any pay. Henceforth, Armin showed up intermittently to sit in the revolving chair and flip through magazines while occasionally handling car keys. 

"Good morning, Eren, I see you're already slacking," Armin smiled back. "Figure out what's wrong with the transmission yet?" 

"Nah, I'll have Mikasa look at it when she gets in. She's better at this stuff anyway. Hell, if the car doesn't run she can probably carry the guy wherever he needs to go. Her abs could break bricks," Eren laughed. 

"Watch what you say, they can crack skulls too," Mikasa remarked, walking inside the garage. Eren jumped slightly and grinned sheepishly. 

"I was just joking, you know," he said nervously, backing up slightly with his hands raised. "Don't hurt me, sis..." 

"Of course not. What's wrong with the Camaro?" She responded, turning to the car, which was painted in a rather displeasing shade of blue. 

"Something in the transmission. I don't really want to take a look at it. Was Sasha with you and Armin? She hasn't been in for a couple days. Everything all right?" Eren asked with mild concern. 

"She's been sick. Well, not so much sick as just exceptionally full. And not so much full as her stomach has been essentially impacted since she and Connie went to a buffet a few days ago," Armin remarked thoughtfully, tapping his chin as he sat down and spun around in the desk chair. 

"She's still going out with Connie!?" Eren groaned in disgust. 

"Jealous, are you?" Armin grinned. 

"God no. I don't swing in her direction, thanks. I suppose Connie's still working for Mr. I'm Not Gay But My Boyfriend Is?" Eren snorted in derision. 

"Jean's not that bad once you get to know the guy," Armin admonished. 

"At this point it's not so much that he's kind of shitty to hang out with, it's more that he's taking half my business, being across the goddamn street. I don't want my employees fraternizing too much with his grease monkeys," Eren scowled. 

Jean Kirschtein was one of his least favorite beings in the world, placing third on his official list. First and second place belonged to his father and the perpetually angry raccoon that often found its way inside the garage at night. Jean was definitely a solid third place, and seemed to embody most of the qualities Eren disliked. He had more money, a better business, he consistently mocked anyone less than him (namely Eren), and insisted time after time that he held no interest in men, but his romantic relationship with a certain freckled employee of his begged to differ. 

"You have a point there," Armin acknowledged, propping his feet up on the counter. "He does get quite a few more customers than we do...not necessarily because he does better work...he's just got a flashier venue. How's the transmission coming, Mikasa?" 

"Fine so far, it's not that bad. I'll need to replace a part, but that shouldn't run up the tab too much," Mikasa leaned up and wiped a line of sweat from her brow. 

"Shame. Maybe we should start charging more," Eren suggested, glancing around the rather decrepit building. "We could stand to improve some stuff in here...not to mention I've got a boyfriend with expensive tastes," he grinned, looking at Armin, who smiled in turn and shrugged. 

"I don't know, I just happen to like nice clothes. Cashmere is one of the most comfortable inventions of the twentieth century," he smiled, then cleared his throat. "Speaking of such...hey, Mikasa, I want your opinion on this too." 

Mikasa closed the hood of the Camaro and nodded, walking over. 

"I've been thinking that I might buy some skirts. Or dresses, or something. There's a lot of pretty stuff...is that weird? I look pretty girlish anyway," he shrugged his shoulders contemplatively, turning slightly pink. Eren opened his mouth in a silent "o" of surprise.

"Th-that wouldn't be weird..." Eren stammered slightly, his face turning just as pink as Armin's. "Sounds kind of hot..." 

"I can't believe I have to deal with the two of you on a daily basis," Mikasa sighed and stood up. She turned to Armin. "Do whatever you want, just be happy." She turned to Eren and smacked his forehead. "Get your head out of the gutter and don't pop a boner. We're opening soon." She groaned in annoyance and walked behind Armin to grab the keys to the Camaro so she could pull it out of the garage. 

"S-so...would you wear that stuff...here too...or just at home?" Eren asked, fantasies already beginning to play out in his head. 

"Were you not listening to Mikasa!?" Armin flushed and covered his face in protest. "Get your head out of the gutter or I'm not buying anything." 

Eren tossed up his hands in defeat. 

"Fine! It just sounded--" 

"I know how it sounded, Eren," Armin blushed more deeply and hid his face behind a book. 

"You know, I don't have to get here early tomorrow..." Eren began, grinning at Armin's embarrassment. 

"I really need to get my own place," Mikasa said, exasperation heavy in her voice. "One more night in the room next to your guys' and someone's going to die." 

"You know you love us, sis," Eren chuckled. 

"Unfortunately I do..." she sighed. “Armin, you need to call the guy with the Camaro. What’s his name?” 

“Um…” Armin turned and began rifling through the papers on the counter. “Smith. Erwin Smith. I’ll ring him up.” 

Eren yawned and stretched his arms over his head. Hopefully it wouldn’t be another day with a few measly customers dragging themselves in for obligatory oil changes. People tended to go across the street for anything more labor-intensive. He frowned. Jean was going down. Maybe not today, but some day. Jean Kirschtein was going down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean is an ass.

The number of customers at Kirschtein and Co. was already well into double digits by eleven in the morning, and Jean was beginning to smirk his way through the day. He made a point of ceaselessly informing Marco that of course they were getting more customers than Jäger, no one wanted to get something repaired at a place that was tripping over itself with structural problems and had no central air conditioning to speak of. Jean laughingly toyed with the idea of calling up Eren to rub his face in his superiority, but shrugged it off, maintaining that while Eren may have a good deal of free time, he, Jean, had a business to run. 

“Hey, Connie, we’ve got a filter change, stop eating crisps and get over here,” he instructed to Connie Springer, one of his decidedly more lax employees. 

“Right then, I’m on it,” Connie replied, his voice muffled as he stuffed a final handful of chips into his mouth. 

“How are things with that girlfriend of yours? The one working for Jäger? You still going with her?” Jean asked, narrowing his eyes distastefully. Anyone working for Jäger was probably some half-wit. 

“Sasha? Yeah we’re still together. She’s in a bit of a bad way, though. Made a mistake and took her to a buffet Saturday. Had to have her stomach pumped. She’ll be put out for the next few days,” Connie sighed. “The woman doesn’t know the difference between a normal-sized meal and an all-out attack on everything in the room that’s edible.”

Jean made a noise of acknowledgement. He wasn’t about to offer his sympathies. After all, the more employees of Jäger’s that managed to get hospitalized, the better. Not that he was much of a threat to business. Jäger’s place was a shithole compared to Jean’s. 

This was a fact that Jean made a distinct point of constantly reminding Marco Bodt, his most dedicated employee. 

“It’s ridiculous,” he said, growling under his breath as he absently waxed down the hood of a Corvette. 

“What is it this time?” Marco asked, with the tone of one who was long-weary of hearing the same rants day after day. 

“Jäger. Acting like he’s all superior. He’s not, you know, you’ve seen how shitty his shop is,” Jean said, waxing rather more aggressively than he normally would have. “He wouldn’t be able to get half our business. Not in a million years. Not even if he had that little blond boy toy of his stripdance on their counter.” 

“You’ve told me this at least a dozen times already,” Marco sighed. “You need to let it go. You’ve got the better business. Isn’t that enough?” 

“No! It’s not enough!” Jean wailed, sitting forlornly on the highly polished marble floor. “It’s never enough! Not until he’s run out of business, that’s the only time it’ll be enough.” He hung his head in defeat. “Cocky little bastard.” 

“Just forget about him. I know someone else who was a little cocky...last night…” Marco said quietly, grinning. 

“Marco!” Jean jolted his head up with a terrified look on his face and emitted a loud hushing noise. “Someone might hear you!” 

“For the love of God, Jean, you’re a bit obvious, don’t you think?” Marco rolled his eyes with some degree of exasperation. 

“Whatever! Be that as it may...I’m sorry, but I told you I don’t want anything out that could hurt business,” Jean sighed. 

“It hasn’t exactly hurt Jäger,” Marco stated thoughtfully. 

“That’s just because there wasn’t any business to hurt in the first place!” Jean groaned, running his hand over the top of his head. “Honestly, it’s a miracle that he’s lasted as long as he has.” 

“Well, maybe it’s because he’s not afraid of anything,” Marco replied quietly, standing up and walking over to the counter. Jean sighed. It had been a little tense with Marco for the past month or so that they’d been together. Jean wasn’t exactly inclined to come out of the closet at the moment. He cared for Marco, certainly. More than he’d ever cared about anyone or anything else. It just wasn’t...it wasn’t something he wanted to put out there. 

Jean scowled. It wasn’t his fault. Not really. It was perfectly normal if he didn’t want to flaunt himself to the world at the moment. For chrissakes, he wasn’t Jäger. His eyes narrowed. Goddammit. He didn’t want to admit he was scared. 

 

:::::::::::::::::::::

Eren was considerably more content than Jean on that particular day. Armin had managed to acquire some new clothes, as it were, and he was currently wearing a dress that was a rather aesthetically pleasing shade of pale blue. Eren had been grinning for the past hour, primarily because it made Armin turn a very deep shade of pink. It also made Mikasa occasionally whack the side of his head to get him to focus on the actual tasks at hand, but Eren had concurred that mild abuse was worth making Armin blush. 

“Eren, you don’t have to keep staring at me, I’m not going anywhere,” Armin said, smiling sheepishly as he held a book in front of his face to block his view of Eren’s wide grin. 

“You’re going somewhere...tonight…” Eren replied deviously, only to have the smug look smacked off his face as Mikasa’s palm made contact with the side of his head. 

“Neither of you will be going anywhere until you get your own place. I haven’t slept in eight days and apparently neither have you,” she said dryly as Eren whined and rubbed his head. 

“Stop being so mean, ‘kasa,” he protested. 

Mikasa rolled her eyes, then narrowed them in thought. 

“Did you remember to pay the rent?” she asked suddenly, her eyes widening in mild horror. 

“That was due?! I thought it wasn’t until next week,” Eren said, his voice low with sheer terror. 

“So that means…” Armin said quietly, lowering his book. 

“He’s coming,” they said simultaneously and scrambled under the counter. 

The three of them managed to squish underneath in semi-awkward positions. Armin was rather uncomfortably positioned with Mikasa’s knee digging into the small of his back and Eren’s head--oh for god’s sake Eren--between his legs. 

“I can’t help--ouch--thinking you did that on purpose,” Armin sighed in defeat. Eren made a small humming noise in response. “He’s going to be in here any minute,” he added in a low whisper. “Why can’t you remember to do anything?”

Eren mumbled something, his voice muffled for evident reasons. 

“Shut up,” Mikasa whispered at the sound of a car approaching. “I think that’s him.” 

The three fell silent and struggled to remain as still as possible. Armin was beginning to hyperventilate slightly. A car door slammed shut in the parking lot and he flinched. 

Footsteps clicked unevenly across the pavement outside, almost as though the individual walking was wearing some kind of high heeled shoe. The footsteps reached the inside of   
the auto shop and stopped. 

“Just as expected. You little shits stiff me on the rent and then think you can hide in here in this goddamn pigsty of a shop. Who knows why I even charge you for this. It’s not like it’s worth anything. Hell, that’s probably why you’ve got so much dust in here. Haven’t had a customer in so long, why bother cleaning?” a dry voice proclaimed. 

Eren didn’t take kindly to this insult on his crummy excuse for a business, and attempted to sit up rather quickly, which resulted in him removing his head from Armin’s lap and subsequently banging it on the underside of the counter. He cursed violently and rolled out from under the counter, standing up to brush himself off and survey the exceptionally short and exceptionally pissed off man in front of him. 

“Ackerman,” he said, swallowing slightly in mild fear. 

“Jäger,” the short man replied, his eyes narrowed in a permanent scowl. 

“I meant to pay the rent, I swear, Levi. It was on the top of my list, it just slipped my mind,” Eren said, fumbling for excuses. 

“If that was your to-do list, I think we all know that only one thing is ever on the top of that list and it’s Arlert,” Levi said, his mouth turning downward slightly in what was either a scowl or an attempt to conceal hidden amusement. “Do you have the money?”

“Yeah, lemme write you a check,” Eren said quickly, his face red as he fumbled around in his pockets for his checkbook. 

Armin and Mikasa rolled out clumsily from under the counter and brushed one another off. Levi’s eyes swooped over Armin’s dress and opened his mouth as though he were about to comment, but merely shook his head and sighed in defeat. 

“Where’s Braus?” he asked instead, glancing around. “At the 7/11 looking for donuts?” 

“Stomach pump,” Mikasa informed him, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“Again?” Levi responded dryly. “Little shit.” He glanced down as Eren finished writing the check and snatched it from him. He glanced around the dingy room. “You should think about fixing this place up. If you can save up enough I’ll think about selling you the next lot over, maybe you can expand. I’m not about to let Zoë and that asshat she’s leasing to run you out of business. I’m not one who takes kindly to being bested, so clean up this place and get your shit together, Jäger.” 

“Yes...sir…” Eren said, looking around uncertainly. Levi turned on his heel (high heel, as it were) and walked back out to his car. 

“He’s unbearable,” Mikasa muttered under her breath. 

“Isn’t he your uncle or something?” Armin asked timidly. 

“Second cousin. Ass,” she said bitterly. She turned to Eren. “You need to start thinking of ways to get more business. Don’t you want to run Kirschtein out of here?” 

“Yes,” Eren said, frowning. “But we don’t have the money for many improvements…” 

“Find some. Next time that short prick comes in here, I don’t want him talking down to you,” Mikasa said, growling and stomping angrily over to a car that was waiting for an oil change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your author will now be taking the expressway to hell.

**Author's Note:**

> I...I don't really know why.


End file.
